Resolution
by eri
Summary: Years later, Saitou Hajime lives a life far away from the Kenshin-gumi, until an unexpected encounter with his brash antithesis brings new insights to an old antagonism...
1. I

****

Resolution

I

Saitou Hajime propped his feet up on the Western desk and leaned back into his chair. Languidly reaching into his side pocket, he pulled out a silver case and opened it carefully. Seeing the long elegant sticks lined up neatly in the case, he smiled in idle contentment. There was nothing in the world that brought him the kind of satisfaction that cigarettes did. Not when he solved a difficult case or when he triumphed in battle. Not even when he made love to a woman. Always after such events, a cigarette must be lit to accentuate the pleasure.

With gloved-covered fingers long and slender like the cigarettes he so treasured, he picked out a stick and placed it between thin lips. Reaching into his pocket once more, he felt for his matches. The cigarette was lit, and he took a long drag, taking in the intense smell of smoke and burning tobacco. He exhaled with a rough sigh of pleasure.

The good thing about cigarettes was, they were excellent company. In Asahikawa, the center of Hokkaido, he was to spend his days until the troublesome matter of gun smuggling was resolved. The details of the case were not quite clear, he only knew for now that the local Yakuza were bringing those detestable Western inventions into Japan via Hokkaido on a large scale. 

The most cowardly of weapons was the gun, for it did not take much skill to fire a shot and kill a man instantly. The katana however, was a weapon of style and courage. If there was ever a good way to die, it would be death by a skillfully wielded katana. Yet times had changed, and it seemed that even the Japanese were yielding to the cheap manner of the gun. In the new era, such things made him feel his age. His katana remained by his side still, always a faithful and deadly companion. While his unyielding loyalty to the old style won him respect, it also provoked talk of being mired in the past.

A sliver of ash fell from the tip of its precariously long stem onto his clean shirt. He flicked it off distractedly. There was plenty of time to think in his isolation. In the godforsaken place that was the Daisetsuzan region, he kept vigil in his little hut. It was a small but sturdy structure near the base of the mountains, isolated enough that his presence remained neglected, yet near enough to the town so that his men could bring reports to him.

The men under him were young and foolish, eager to please but rather inefficient in investigation work. Before long, he would have to conduct his own inquiries, if he wanted to leave Hokkaido and return to his wife. The trouble with rising too high in rank was that he was given plenty of cushy administration work to do, but little action to partake in. While he enjoyed barking orders at his flustered young officers, Saitou was always a man of action first and foremost. At least his cigarettes never failed him.

Loud knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts. He frowned slightly. It was one of those inexplicable moments in life. Here he was, thinking of foolish men and right then one of those men decided to turn up. Nobody else visited him, for nobody else knew of his whereabouts. Surely the fool need not knock so vigorously. There was no reason why he would not be inside.

With a grunt of disgust, he took his legs off the desk in one swift motion and strode toward the door, opening it roughly.

"What?"

The sight of the strange man who stood outside the door was utterly surprising. The cigarette hung limply by his lips as his mouth went agape, but only for the most fleeting of instances. A slow curl of his lips into a cunning smile quickly replaced his previously undignified manner. He raised an eyebrow.

"Ahou."


	2. II

****

Resolution

II

The dark, unkempt man standing outside the door stared openly, surprise showing uninhibitedly on his features. Saitou would not have recognized the man for the foolish boy Sanosuke if not for the red band that was still wrapped around his forehead. No longer was he clad in the flashy white outfit of old, instead he wore an ordinary looking kimono and hakama. A few seconds too late Sanosuke realized he had just been insulted, and the blank expression of shock changed to one of annoyance. He opened his mouth to retort, but Saitou cut him off.

"I suppose you got lost," his smile widened as he saw the younger man stiffen obviously at his assumption. "You need a place to stay for tonight, and you thought how fortunate it is you had chanced upon a woodcutter's hut."

"I'm leaving," said Sanosuke warily, already backing away from Saitou as if he were the most feral of predators.

"The nearest town is far by foot, and you wouldn't know the way in darkness," there was a deliberate pause, "But you wouldn't know the way in light either."

With a snarl, Sanosuke spat on the ground near his feet and walked away. Saitou chuckled. The brash temper was still there, that even the slightest hint of sarcasm from him could incite.

"You may stay if you wish, for no other payment than a little company."

Sanosuke paused midway. Saitou could imagine the anguish going on in his head. Yet if he had grown any wiser, he would give in to rationality and accept the offer of a roof over his head. The lightest of snow had begun to fall, and it would become colder as the night went by.

With plain reluctance, Sanosuke turned around and walked towards the hut again. Leaving the door open, Saitou made his way back to his desk, assuming the restful position of before. He watched the other man as he entered and shut the door behind him rudely. With a deliberate effort at ignoring his surroundings, Sanosuke dragged a chair noisily to the far corner of the room next to the window. It was an obvious attempt to put as much distance between himself and Saitou as was possible in the small space.

"You do realize that I remain in name Fujita Goro, a police officer, and that you're a wanted man?"

Sanosuke looked so utterly stricken that Saitou chuckled again, much to the younger man's annoyance.

"You're older but no less of a bastard than before."

"And you remain a naive boy. I have never succumbed to the whims of corrupt politicians."

"Aku, Soku, Zan," Sanosuke laughed mockingly. "Pompous bastard."

Taking another languorous drag from his cigarette, Saitou merely looked on coldly at his reluctant companion. The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his chair under Saitou's insistent gaze, then looked out of the window at the darkening sky for lack of anything better to do.

It would be wrong to call Sanosuke a boy, for he was no longer one. His face had thinned out, gained lines, the impetuous spark no longer in his eyes. Though still long and lean, his figure had acquired the defined musculature that came from years of intense physical activity. From his travels in foreign lands, no doubt. Saitou was aware that Sanosuke had left Japan those years ago, but he had little clue what happened to him after that. Before, the false bravado of his cocky swagger and smart mouth preceded him. There was little of that now, although his unrestrained mouth likely got him into plenty of trouble still.

"You should stop watching me," said Sanosuke, his face still turned toward the window. 

"How do you know I'm watching you, unless you're watching me through my reflection on the window?"

"Kuso, I've got a woman already!"

"So have I."

In the ranks of the Shinsengumi, there had been captains who made advances on their minors. Lonely men, or just men who appreciated the beauty of the lithe, supple adolescent body. Saitou had been aware of obscure noises in darkened rooms in the middle of the night, but it was a matter that men of the sword did not speak of. He could see the appeal in the brash personality of a younger Sanosuke, an invitation to conquer and tame, although there was certainly nothing aesthetic in his coarse manner. But such thought was for men of those inclinations.

Odd that Sanosuke should bring it up. This was an occurrence distant from ordinary folk, although an age-old practice in the samurai classes. There was an awkward silence in the small house, as Saitou sucked thoughtfully on yet another cigarette, his eyes averted to the ceiling, while Sanosuke continued to stare out of the window.

"Tell me about this woman of yours."

"About time you asked!"


	3. III

****

Resolution

III

Sanosuke eased up a little at Saitou's initiation of the comparatively innocuous topic. He settled himself more comfortably into the chair, throwing one leg over the other so that a normally refined position now looked uncouth. He gave Saitou a sideways glance, one that was almost smug.

"My woman," said Sanosuke, his voice proud, "is just about the most beautiful woman you'll ever see. So beautiful she could be the best geisha in all of Tokyo--"

"Ahou. If she were a geisha you wouldn't have her."

For some reason, that particular insult always got to Sanosuke. The younger man was sitting upright in the chair now, his body taut with angry tension. It was ironic. Saitou had seen him make a fool of himself many times, that a mere verbal insult should mean little in the light of those far more embarrassing incidents. It proved one thing, though nothing startling. The ahou was an ahou. Saitou felt his lips quirk even as he calmly brought his cigarette up to his mouth again.

It rather surprised him when Sanosuke seemed to calm down abruptly. Instead of a string of fast and furious obscenities, he merely crossed his arms in front of his chest and sank back into his chair, his face a sullen mask.

"It's going to be a long night," said Sanosuke sarcastically.

"Why are you in Hokkaido?"

"Why are _you_ in Hokkaido?"

"Answering a question with a question will only make this night longer."

Sanosuke ignored him. Saitou would have ignored him too, only he knew from experience how utterly dull chain smoking cigarette after cigarette could be, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. If the ahou refused to talk, then it was time to induce him to talk.

As a boy, Sanosuke had always been amusing to trifle with. He was one of those people who never understood the virtue of thought before action, so that with carefully placed bait it was easy to lure him into whatever trap was intended for him. Back then, the game was entertaining, and one that Saitou always won. Saitou liked winning.

"This woman of yours, she's not with you."

Saitou did not think he liked him very much, yet Sanosuke had actually begun to babble to him about her at only the most banal of invitations. It piqued Saitou's interest, this potential tale of foolish young lovers. Sanosuke certainly looked like the type. He was young and he was foolish.

"I should think you want to be in her arms, not stuck in cold Hokkaido with the enemy."

"Can't," said Sanosuke curtly. "I'm wanted, and it would hurt Megumi."

That name sounded vaguely familiar. A common name, but Saitou distinctly remembered being acquainted with a woman called that. He thought about the Battousai and his friends, trying to recall names and faces from a time that seemed far away, but it had really only been a few years ago. Not the tanuki-musume, her name was Kaoru, nor that other frighteningly enthusiastic young girl, the itachi-musume. There had been another female, a woman in contrast to those noisy adolescent girls... the lady doctor. 

"Hmm," muttered Saitou.

The ahou's woman was a beautiful physician. Kami makes fools of us all.

"Where is she?"

"In Aizu, but that's none of your concern."

"Yet you tell me anyway."

Really, how artless could Sanosuke get? After not seeing the ahou for so long, he had forgotten just how. But the implied insult of Saitou's words was wasted on him. Sanosuke's head was cradled in his hands now, shoulders hunched as if weary. Saitou wondered how long it was since he last saw the woman. Aizu was some distance from Hokkaido.

It brought back early memories, this unexpected mention of Aizu. Aizu was where he had travelled to after leaving his home at nineteen. It was where he had first met Takagi Tokio, and where their marriage had taken place. He thought about his wife. Poor Tokio, once more alone in their big house in Kyoto while he was called away on police work. 

A match with Saitou Hajime, captain of the Shinsengumi third unit had been prestigious at that time, and one that her Tokugawa supporting family was eager to make. He had been indifferent to the marriage, seeing such unions as merely social neccessity, so that a man could fulfill his urges within proper boundaries and carry on his lineage. As a child, it was duty and not affection that existed between the husbands and wives that he knew. 

Tokio had turned out to be a remarkable woman. Not beautiful like he remembered Sanosuke's lady doctor to be, but there was something striking in her fine-boned features and proud bearing. During the first years of their marriage, she had been impossibly stubborn and willful, that many times he had been tempted to slap her into submission. Yet her intelligence was fascinating, and her heart was good. One day he realized that she was just a young woman upset at being betrothed to a stranger. He was no longer a stranger now. After all these years, he wondered if Tokio understood how he felt about her. Was it duty that bound her to him? 

"So why are you here? Police business again, I'll bet."

The rough voice of Sanosuke permeated the haze of his thoughts, or perhaps the haze was just an illusion created by his incessant smoking. Saitou merely grunted in acknowledgement, but he did not say more. Even if Sanosuke were a friend, it would be unwise to reveal too much to a man with an impetuous mouth and love for sake.

"Poor wife, be careful she doesn't run around with someone else while you're away."

"Voicing your own worries?"

"Che," was the noncommittal reply, and then he said, "I can't be selfish and expect a woman who's not my wife to keep her faith. But you can."

Saitou saw earnestness in Sanosuke's eyes, so that suddenly there was a semblance of the nineteen-year-old boy that Saitou knew him best as. For reasons he could not fathom, irritation pricked at him. Yet there was also quiet sadness in the younger man's dark eyes, that Saitou let the harsh feelings wash over him. He nodded almost imperceptibly, refusing to dignify with obvious agreement the wisdom of one he considered inferior, but the good part of him, that small part that had not been rotted by cynicism, was willing to acknowledge that in their disparity they were at least alike in loneliness. This unexpected affinity with the ahou was a strange feeling.

"I wonder... what kind of woman can stand you?" said Sanosuke slyly.

It was inevitable, this. Saitou smirked, glad that the moment was over.


	4. IV

****

Resolution

IV

Sometime in the midst of their conversation, Sanosuke had shifted subtly so that his body was halfway facing Saitou, although his chair remained in its original position by the window. It was a little thing to notice, but Saitou had always been unnaturally sharp.

If Sanosuke was beginning to trust him, it was probably not a very wise choice. But the ahou was not called one for nothing, although Saitou reckoned he had become just a little bit smarter over the years. Perhaps with time and with the right knocks in life, it was even possible to salvage the rest of his stupidity. Disposing of his fifth cigarette, Saitou crossed his arms and looked appraisingly at the subject of curiosity in front of him.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that you've become less stupid."

"You don't know any better way to compliment someone?"

"No."

Sanosuke sighed noisily. "I've traveled, seen some of the world... it changes you," he seemed to think for a bit, then raised one hand as if to make a point. "I was just a boy at nineteen, didn't think anything could beat me down..."

Abruptly he slapped that raised hand on his thigh. "Even you were nineteen once! Surely you were different then," he paused for a moment. "More ah, innocent?"

"I killed a man at nineteen," began Saitou in a conversational tone.

The younger man let out a soft curse.

"After that, I had no choice but to flee from my home. Even my own mother wouldn't call me innocent."

"You've never stopped killing since."

"There is no good without evil. That is the way of the world, and it is a truth your friend the Battousai runs away from."

"It's not Kenshin's duty to rid Japan of evil, just as it isn't yours. He isn't running away, he just chose a different path."

"That's the coward's way."

The insult on his best friend might as well have been an insult on Sanosuke, as he made a move toward Saitou. With the swiftest of motions Saitou grabbed the katana resting beside him. He pointed it at the advancing Sanosuke. Though the weapon was not drawn, the warning was obvious.

Sanosuke stopped then, fists clenched by his sides. "You would kill me too?"

"If you were wearing that stupid shirt from before I would have a reason to. Aku, Soku, Zan."

Saitou smiled grimly at his own wry joke. Sanosuke laughed, a short, harsh sound that just barely acknowledged Saitou's compromise. He returned to his seat. They were back to where they started, balancing precariously on the thin line between friend and foe.

That he chose the killing way was not a decision Saitou would boast of. He had the strength and the skill, so it was only right he used these talents to protect what was good. Ordinary men could live simple lives. Saitou was far from an ordinary man, and to withdraw from the potential of what he could do was the coward's way. It was Battousai's way.

He did not like blood on his hands, but he understood it was what could not be avoided. It was simply necessary that men who stood on the wrong side were slaughtered along the way. The first time he killed a man, he had been utterly shaken, yet he betrayed nothing beyond the sullen mask he wore in front of his family. His samurai father said nothing. His mother showed her distraught in the paleness of her face. The smell of blood did not go away for days. It was easier now. Facing the worst of men, he could even enjoy the killing, for it was the climax in the battle between good and evil.

Tokio always knew when he had killed. He tried his best to clean himself after his work, but the stains of red clung stubbornly to his clothing. As she helped him undress, she would gingerly pick up his sullied clothes and put them away for the washerwoman to collect the next day. She never washed them herself.

In the bathhouse, there would be always be hot water ready. More than a mere bath, this was a ritual purification for him. He had mentioned his observation gently to Tokio, as she scrubbed his skin raw with her usual harsh motions. She had laughed nervously then, avoiding his eyes. He never brought it up again. After he was clean, she was happy to let him hold her. She would wrap her thin arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. It made him sad. Only Okita had understood him, but his friend was long dead.

"No wonder you're such a cynical bastard," said Sanosuke sourly from the safety of his chair.

Saitou did not know what the ahou was alluding to. The younger man did not say more. 

He had not been cynical at nineteen, not at the beginning. With a man's blood on his hands, it was his innocence that was the first to go. Then being witness to the dead man's father, a high-ranking samurai's successful attempt to persecute him changed the way he understood life. The wealthy and powerful could have their way, just as the man he murdered had tried to have his way with his cousin.

Aku, Soku, Zan was an ideal he remained loyal to, but that did not mean he was immune to its ultimate weight. It was as much a punishment on the soul as it brought him gratification. Since his younger days, he had always been unrelenting, much to the consternation of his peers.

Perhaps this was why Sanosuke irked him so, beyond his foolishness. The ahou gave in freely to drink, dice and women, as carefree young men were prone to do. He trusted people, and with that trust came his loyalty. He showed his emotions openly and unabashedly. Being in his presence was a constant reminder of how different Saitou had been at nineteen. Yet Sanosuke's young life had been similarly scarred.

It was not a life a man like Saitou would have chosen, but it did not mean that it was a life he would not have wanted. What had it been then, jealousy or envy? Maybe both. But man makes his own choices in life.

When he stood up and made his way to the window, Sanosuke eyed him warily. Saitou smirked at the ahou's reaction as he leaned against the wall. He reached into his side pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. 

"Not too many left," muttered Saitou when he opened the case. He offered the contents to the younger man.

Sanosuke looked bewildered.

"They're not poisoned," said Saitou helpfully.

Realizing the significance of the gesture, Sanosuke stood up quickly until he was at eye level with Saitou. Only then did he take a stick from the case and put it between his lips. Saitou picked out a cigarette too, and then reached for his matches. 

Sanosuke coughed a bit at the initial smoke, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth with clumsy fingers. "Never liked these things." He frowned at the burning stick between his fingers, but made no move to discard it.

Saitou nodded, mildly amused. He turned his head to look out the window at the white flakes falling endlessly in the darkness. It was going to be a long night, but it was not going to be a bad night.

~*~

Author's Notes:

I hope I've done justice to the very intriguing character of Saitou. This fic is really about him, even though there is Sano too. Despite their antagonism, or perhaps because of it, those two play each other off very well, and I wanted to delve into that. I think of Saitou as a fair person, which is why he can bring himself to realize the basis of his dislike for the ahou. Yet Saitou being such a mean bastard would never, never say it, although he does let Sano share his precious cigarettes. Just one though.

Well, thanks for reading! Some of what I've written is based on fact about the real Saitou Hajime, but for the most part, it's fiction. 

05/05 Thank you Mara for pointing out that the Gatotsu is Saitou's fighting style, not his sword. You're so right. 


End file.
